


If I Could Kiss You Again

by Triangulum



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Friends to Lovers, Kissing, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 12:20:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20174146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Triangulum/pseuds/Triangulum
Summary: "Summer plans?" Peter asks, eyes on where Isaac is now trying to inch along the ceiling beam toward the wall where he can slide down a pipe."Leaving for Stanford in September. Saving the world and working in between now and then," Stiles says. "Why, gonna miss me?""Considering I'll be left alone with Derek? Yes," Peter says."You'll have Cora," Stiles says. "And Isaac will be here to make up a few high school credits."There's a shriek and a thud as Isaac loses his grip, falling on top of Erica and Boyd, sending them all to the ground in a heap."Yes," Peter says flatly. "Thank god for that."ORFive times Stiles kisses Peter and one time Peter kisses him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I TRIED to finish in time for Steter Week...but obviously that didn't happen.

The first time Stiles kisses Peter is at the party Derek throws for the pack after graduation. Lydia brings the wolfsbane-spiked rum that she finally perfected, dumping the entire bottle into the punchbowl ("A punchbowl? Is this an elementary school dance, Derek?" "Shut up, Stiles."), keeping a regular bottle out for her, Stiles, and Allison. 

Everyone is pleasantly buzzed except for Derek, who keeps directing them away from the balcony, having overheard Erica and Isaac betting on if they can make the jump to the next building, and Peter, who's watching them all with an amused smirk that Stiles is sure means he's gathering blackmail material for later. Joke's on him, Stiles hasn't been ashamed of anything that's come out of his mouth since he was ten years old.

Peter sidles up to Stiles where he's sitting on Derek's kitchen island, legs swinging as he watches Derek exasperatedly trying to coach Isaac down from the rafters where Erica's convinced him to climb once they realized Derek was guarding the balcony. Boyd has Erica on his shoulders, her arms held out like she's going to catch Isaac if he drops.

"$20 on Isaac breaking a leg," Stiles says as Peter leans against the island next to him.

"His leg or Erica's leg?" Peter asks.

"Either," Stiles says.

"Deal. $30 on Isaac crying," Peter says.

Stiles snorts. "No bet. Isaac cries sober, he'll probably sob drunk."

"Fuck you!" Isaac shouts from where he's hanging onto a beam, squeaking when it makes him lose his grip a little. Stiles rolls his eyes, but he's grinning.

"Summer plans?" Peter asks, eyes on where Isaac is now trying to inch toward the wall where he can slide down a pipe.

"Leaving for Stanford in September. Saving the world and working in between now and then," Stiles says. "Why, gonna miss me?"

"Considering I'll be left alone with Derek? Yes," Peter says.

"You'll have Cora," Stiles says. "And Isaac will be here to make up a few high school credits."

There's a shriek and a thud as Isaac loses his grip, falling on top of Erica and Boyd, sending them all to the ground in a heap.

"Yes," Peter says flatly. "Thank god for that."

Stiles laughs and leans forward, swaying a bit. "It's okay to admit you like me," he says, reaching out and booping Peter's nose, slightly surprised Peter lets him. Before he can talk himself out of it, he kisses the end of Peter's nose, grinning at the surprise on his face. He hops off the counter, his tipsy-ness only messing with his balance a little bit. "Also, Isaac's leg is definitely not supposed to be at that angle. You owe me $20."

"I lied, I won't miss you at all," Peter calls as Stiles walks over to the drinks. Stiles flips him off over his shoulder.


	2. Chapter 2

"I'm back for three days and this is what happens?" Stiles grumbles, trudging after Peter through the preserve.

"Well we saved the best monster for you," Peter says sarcastically. "I can't control when we're attacked by witches, Stiles."

"You can put that innocent face away, I know for a fact you'd be able to arrange this if you wanted to. Or if you got bored. Or if it was part of a hostile takeover," Stiles says, pointing his bat at Peter, who just smirks, the asshole. 

"Please, I would never stage a hostile takeover when you were in town," Peter says. "I have self-preservation instincts, thank you."

"I'm taking that as a compliment, just so you know," Stiles says.

"Good, it was intended as one."

"God, you two are weird," Cora says.

Stiles...hadn't forgotten she was there, exactly, but it's easy to get pulled in talking to Peter. There's a rapport there, a fun edge to their banter that he's missed since being at college. Most of his classmates just get offended if he tries to pull them into a debate and more than once he's turned his head, ready to make a scathing remark to Peter over someone's incompetence, only to remember at the last minute that Peter is a few hundred miles away. 

"Also, this is not how stealth works," Cora says. 

"All right missy, how about - "

That's when Peter hisses at them to be quiet. They're all still for a moment before Cora and Peter stiffen and look at each other, hearing something Stiles can't. Then they're off like a shot, Stiles chasing after them and cursing damn werewolf speed under his breath.

When Stiles bursts through the trees after Peter and Cora, it makes complete sense why they weren't able to track down a coven of witches. It's a pack of werewolves, dead for at least a month by Stiles' estimate, being animated by the crazed-looking man in the middle of the fray. The Hale pack is ripping into the reanimated werewolves, which aren't as skilled, but have the advantage of numbers. Stiles isn't a fan of that.

"Well, we found your head witch," Stiles says, smashing the head of a dead werewolf going for their resident undead werewolf. 

Peter glances over at the witch, his eyes nearly black, hands moving fast with gestures Stiles only vaguely recognizes from Peter's book on magic. Scott tries to get close but the witch flings out mountain ash along with his spell, the flash of light throwing Scott backwards. Peter spins, ripping the head off of a small reanimated werewolf, before turning back to Stiles. 

"We can't touch him. If I get you over there, can you get him?" Peter asks, nodding down to Stiles' bat. The bat Stiles painstakingly etched hundreds of runes into, the bat that lights up like magic Christmas lights when Stiles puts his will through it.

Stiles grins. swinging the bat around, the runes glowing warmly against his palm. "Fuck yeah, I can."

Peter's face twists into the grin he gets when he's promised bloody violence. They turn as one, tearing and smashing their way through the reanimated werewolves. Peter nearly rips one in half that rakes its claws down Stiles' arm, but they don't stop. The twisted little witch is too busy focused on Derek, thinking the alpha is the biggest threat. That tends to be the downfall of a lot of baddies that come through Beacon Hills.

The witch doesn't see them until it's too late. He throws out a hand, Peter barely dodging the handful of mountain ash and accompanying curse, but it doesn't matter because it gives Stiles the opening he needs. He throws all his magic into his hands, channeling it into his bat, and swinging as hard as he can.

There's a sickening crack and spray of blood as the bat hits the witch's skull, then he's dropping like a sack of potatoes to the ground, his pack of reanimated werewolves dropping right after. Stiles drops to the ground next to where Peter's shaking off the effects of the mountain ash grabbing his face to check his eyes, making sure the poison isn't in his bloodstream already

"I'm fine," Peter says, wrapping a hand around Stiles' wrist, but he doesn't push him away.

Stiles grins, lurching forward and pressing a quick but exuberant to Peter's lips. Peter looks a bit stunned, but Stiles is pretty sure that's the effects of whatever he was sideswiped with.

"Did you _see_ that?" Stiles asks. "We kicked ass. We'd be the best duo. The guy with magic and his werewolf sidekick. We gotta work on a name."

"You think I'm the sidekick here?" Peter asks incredulously. "And are you on a magic high again?" 

"No," Stiles says, then pauses. "Okay, maybe."

The pack is pulling themselves together, taking inventory of injuries and realizing what exactly happened. Stiles stands and offers a hand to Peter, tugging him to his feet. He's not quite sure why Peter's looking at him oddly. Maybe he's a little more magic-high than he thought.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles can practically hear Peter grinding his teeth from across the room. He's pretty sure the only reason Peter hasn't put five claws into the handsy werewolf next to him is that he knows a peace summit isn't the best place to start stabbing. Jeremiah is the son of an alpha from New York and has very much been raised as a werewolf prince type. Stiles had hated him on sight. After two obnoxious days, he hates him even more.

They’re in Los Angeles, a five-and-a-half-hour drive (with miracle traffic) from Stiles’ school. Jeremiah has made it very clear that he wants Peter, despite being told that he’s not interested. He touches Peter much more than is polite, especially for a werewolf. He puts a hand on his back when they’re walking to a meeting, runs a hand through his hair at dinner, and nearly rubs his cheek against Peter’s in a very unwelcome scenting before Peter jerks away. Jeremiah seems to _enjoy_ making Peter uncomfortable, which is gross in a whole other way. 

Now, they’re in a seating area, waiting for Derek and Scott to come back with lunch, when Peter gets caught again with Jeremiah. Stiles and Kira watch from across the room, Kira biting her lip. Even she can tell Peter’s not happy. Jeremiah rests a hand on Peter’s forearm, stoking it slowly. Peter’s eye twitches in a way that Stiles knows from experience means he’s about to do a murder. 

“Hold down the fort,” Stiles says, thrusting his drink at Kira so he isn’t tempted to dump it over Jeremiah’s head. 

“What?” Kira asks. “What are you going to do?”

“I have no idea,” Stiles says, which is how he tends to operate. Flying by the seat of his pants has gotten him this far, right?

Jeremiah’s mother, Alpha Linda Bowman, has joined them, so Jeremiah has toned it down a bit, but his hand is still on Peter and Stiles knows that after two days, his fuse is short. Stiles weaves his way through the crowd, careful to avoid bumping anyone because he is _polite_ (sometimes) until he’s at Peter’s side. He doesn’t think he’s imagining the relief in Peter’s eyes.

“Hey,” Stiles says, worming his way under Peter’s free arm. Peter lifts it easily, letting Stiles slot himself at his side. If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it. “I was wondering where you went to.”

“Just discussing wendigos. Jeremiah says they may have a bit of a problem back home,” Peter says.

“That’s too bad,” Stiles says. “Come on, babe, Scott and Derek are like a minute away with In-N-Out.”

“Oh, we’re almost done,” Jeremiah says, his hand sliding down to grip Peter’s wrist.

Not convinced then. Fine. Stiles, now as tall as Peter, much to his irritation, leans in, brushing his nose against Peter’s. Peter doesn’t even raise an eyebrow, just meets Stiles in a slow, soft kiss. The arm around Stiles tightens slightly. 

And oh. Oh shit. He Stiles’ breath hitches when Peter pulls away, the look in his eyes full of heat. Stiles hopes he doesn’t look as dazed as he feels, because Jeremiah and Linda don’t need to think this is a first real kiss. He clears his throat and turns back to them, leaning into Peter’s side. 

“Lovely to meet you both,” he says. Peter takes his arm back, only to take Stiles’ hand in his. “We’ll see you later.”

He turns and tugs Peter with him, away from a confused Linda and incensed Jeremiah. He tries not to think of how warm Peter’s hand is in his, how soft his lips had been, how he can feel Peter’s eyes boring into the back of his head. He tries to ignore how much he wants to do it again. Shit.


	4. Chapter 4

School gets hectic toward the end of quarter, which Stiles had expected, but he hadn’t really considered what exactly that would entail. What that means in frantic studying, writing a fuck load of essays that are way under his usual standards. He fires them off to Peter and Lydia, who agree to look over them, and winces when he gets them back. They’re not mean about it, but yeah, they need a lot of work.

Considering all that, he’s so busy that it’s almost a surprise when finals week hits. All of the sudden, he’s done and on his way back to Beacon Hills for Christmas and New Year’s. His dad actually has Christmas day off, only having to go in at night, so they get to spend it together for the first time in a while. 

New Year’s Eve is another story, all hands on deck for drunk drivers and family feuds, so Stiles spends it with the pack at the rebuilt Hale house, Lydia having planned an extravagant party. The whole pack hasn’t been together since the summer and Derek seems happy to let her decorate his home with streamers and shiny decorations. He rolls his eyes when Stiles calls him a softie, but there’s a faintly pink tint to his cheeks. 

Stiles has no idea who Lydia got to cater this, but he loads his plate up multiple times. He could live happily for the rest of his life on the chicken skewers alone. The pack is spread out throughout the huge living room, some playing games (Stiles will never again play Jenga with Erica, thank you very much), chatting about school (Stiles would rather forget about last quarter than relive it with Lydia and Boyd), or arm wrestling (Stiles can cut that Isaac/Scott sexual tension with a knife). 

“Overwhelmed?” Peter asks from Stiles’ right. 

“Shit!” Stiles says, jumping enough that his cider sloshes out of his cup. He turns to glare at Peter, who’s just smirking. “I thought we had a discussion about sneaking up on people?”

Peter just shrugs. “You had a discussion,” he says. “I merely nodded along.”

“You’re the king of assholes,” Stiles grumbles. 

“At least I’m in charge,” Peter says. “Happy to be home?”

“God yes,” Stiles says. “Don’t get me wrong, I love Stanford, but finals just kicked my ass.”

“I could tell. The amount of typos in your English essay was appalling,” Peter says.

“Which is why I sent it to you, Mr. Condescension,” Stiles says.

“I should put that on my business card. Mr. Condescension, King of the Assholes,” Peter says. 

Stiles snorts, nudging him with his elbow. “I love how you being a dick actually reminds me why I missed you,” Stiles says. “There are very few people in my classes who argue as well as you do.”

“Why Stiles, do you miss our chemistry?” Peter asks, a smug little smile on his lips. 

“If that’s what you want to call it,” Stiles says. 

“Ten seconds!” Lydia calls, turning the volume up on the Times Square countdown on TV. “Pair up!”

Lydia and Allison gravitate to each other. Scott and Isaac look at each other, blushing, while Kira links arms with Derek. Peter turns so he’s facing Stiles and steps closer into his space. The crowd on TV is loudly counting down, most of the pack joining in, but Stiles’ attention is all on Peter standing just a few inches from him, his hands wrapped around Stiles’. 

“Three! Two! One!” the others chant.

There’s cheering, noisemakers being blown, and lots of New Year’s kisses throughout the room. Peter closes the distance between them, an unreadable look on his face, and kisses Stiles softly. It sends a zing of heat through him just like when they were at the conference. Stiles had tried to forget, tried to act like he doesn’t still think of Peter’s lips on his. That’s all blown out of the water now.

Peter’s kiss is nothing chaste. He kisses him like he wants Stiles to never forget him, like this is the one shot he’ll get and he wants to make it count. Stiles is the same, kissing him like he’s been aching to do for months. His plan to ignore his lust for Peter is going to be shot all to hell after this.

They’re pulled out of it by a chorus of ‘aw’ and they turn to find the pack’s attention on Derek still kissing the hell out Kira. Boyd gives them a loud whoop, which seems to finally make them break apart, a blush high on Kira’s smiling face. No one is paying attention to Stiles and Peter at all and when Stiles turns back, Peter’s eyes are on him.

“Happy New Year’s, Stiles,” Peter says softly, stepping away to refill his cup.

Stiles swallows hard. Fuck.


	5. Chapter 5

Stiles had really hoped he’d left the ‘running for his life’ stage of his life behind, but no such luck. He thought his spring break might involve some underage drinking, maybe a pack trip to the lake for a swim, not him and Peter running like hell through the preserve. Stiles doesn’t even have his baseball bat with him, not that it would do much to hunters shooting at them from far away.

Peter’s already been shot, a bullet going clear through his shoulder. There are black veins of wolfsbane poisoning spreading from the wound that Stiles doesn’t like the look of. He knows that even weakened, Peter could run and leave him in the dust, but he doesn’t, keeping pace with Stiles as they crash through the trees.

Stiles has no idea how many hunters, no idea where they’re coming from, but he and Peter have the advantage of knowing the preserve better than the hunters ever could. They zig zag through the trees as they run, never more than ten feet away from each other, until they get to the small cave they’re aiming for. 

There a few of these throughout the preserve, just big enough for two or three people comfortably. The pack knows where they all are, just in case. Peter crashes into the cave, collapsing against the wall. He’s breathing hard, teeth clenched against the pain. 

Stiles turns once he’s in the mouth of the cave, throwing his hands up, sealing off the entrance of the cave with a shimmering shield. He curses himself for not learning camouflage yet. He would love to make an illusion of a big rock over the cave entrance, but he hasn’t figured out how yet. And now they’re fucked because of it.

He sinks to the ground next to Peter, hands shaking. He used a lot of magic blasting away the first few hunters who’d attacked them, used even more to make the shield. He’s dangerously close to running on empty. 

“They’ll find us,” Peter says. Stiles has to hand it to him, he manages to sound a lot calmer than Stiles would be if he’d been shot.

“I know,” Stiles says. “That should hold us for a bit at least.”

“How long?” Peter asks.

Not long enough for the pack to find them. 

There are shouts, then the first of the hunters burst through the trees, grinning when he sees Peter and Stiles in the cave. He raises his gun and fires rapidly at them, only to see his bullets him the shield and drop uselessly on the ground. Stiles grits his teeth. Normally anything hitting his shields doesn’t have any effect, but he’s dangerously low on magic, and the hunter seems to realize this.

“You can’t stay in there forever!” the man calls. “Sooner or later you’ll fail and we’ll have you.” 

More hunters emerge from the trees, maybe ten in total, standing in a semicircle around the cave entrance. Stiles knows they’re right. They’re fucked. He knows it, Peter knows it. He has one last hail Mary. Odds are good it’ll kill Stiles, but Peter will have a fighting chance at least. Stiles swallows hard, hands shaking. He can live with that.

Stiles turns to Peter. Peter’s already looking at him, pain in his eyes. Stiles takes Peter’s hand in his and before he can think, leans in and kisses him desperately. Peter’s hand wraps around the back of his head, holding him close. It’s not like the other times they’ve kissed. There’s no playfulness, no edge of something more. Just desperation, because they both know this is their last chance. 

They break it with a gasp when they both need air, resting their foreheads together, ignoring the disgusted jeers of the hunters outside the cave. Stiles reaches into his pocket, taking out his lighter and dropping it into Peter’s hand. Peter frowns, looking at him in confusion. 

“So you can burn the wolfsbane out when you get one of their bullets,” Stiles says in explanation. He sees Peter’s eyes widen in realization, but Stiles is already standing and moving away. Peter’s staggering to his feet but Stiles doesn’t give him the chance to stop him. “Give them hell for me, okay?”

“Stiles!” Peter shouts, voice full of fear Stiles has never heard from him.

Stiles turns to the cave entrance and focuses on his magic, calls up every last drop of it, every reserve of energy in his body. He’s been cautioned against this, told by multiple magic users to be careful to not put too much of yourself into what you’re doing because it can drain you dry, pull from your very life force. He does it anyway with no hesitation.

Stiles gathers that magic to him and thrusts it out, blasting all the hunters off their feet, sending them flying. He’s sure the one that hits the tree cracks his skull, but he doesn’t know about the others. Hopefully he killed them, but at the very least he’s bought Peter time. 

It’s that thought that he focuses on as he collapses, vision going black at the corners. There’s an enraged roar from behind him, loud and deep enough to rattle his ribs, then nothing.


	6. Chapter 6

When Stiles swims to consciousness, the first thing he feels is surprise (because hey, he isn’t dead!) followed quickly by aches all over his body. There’s a quiet but obnoxious beeping that tells him he’s in the hospital. He groans, forcing his eyes open. It’s a familiar sight, the beige and white walls of Beacon Hills Memorial. 

There’s a shifting sound next to his bed so as much as it hurts to turn his neck, he looks over to see Peter sitting in the uncomfortable hospital chair, looking supremely unimpressed. Stiles still feels a bit groggy, and he blames that for why he just stares, not saying anything.

“That was a stupid thing to do,” Peter says, glaring. But Stiles is all too familiar with Peter’s glares now, and he’s well aware that this one is his ‘I was really worried and covering it by being an asshole’ glare.

“Yeah, well it worked, didn’t it? Unless this is the most disappointing afterlife ever,” Stiles says. “What happened?”

“You blasted two hunters into oblivion, knocked most of the rest out,” Peter says. “Easy enough to kill the rest and break open a bullet.”

“You’re all good then?” Stiles asks, looking at his shoulder as if it’s going to start bleeding again any second. 

Peter’s face darkens. “Of course I’m okay. You’re the one in the hospital, idiot,” Peter says.

“Hey!” Stiles says. “The idiot who saved your life!”

“_Why_ did you do that?” Peter asks. “Why would you do something that stupid?”

“What, should I have let you die? Do you think I’d have made it long after that? As soon as my magic failed they would have killed me anyways,” Stiles says. “At least...at least that way I figured there was a good chance you would live.”

“You were bleeding from your nose and eyes!” Peter snaps. It’s a tone Stiles hasn’t heard before, sharp and biting. “I thought you were dying! Do you have any idea what it was like to carry you out of the preserve, thinking your heart was going to stop any second? Do you have _any_ idea what it did to me thinking you were dying in my arms?”

Peter’s breathing harshly, nostrils flaring the way they do when he’s really pissed and trying to hold back. His hands on his thighs are clenching and unclenching, like he’s itching to let his claws out. Stiles swallows hard, a weird fluttering in his chest. He reaches out to Peter, hand open. For a moment he’s worried Peter isn’t going to take it, then he sighs, leaning forward and threading their fingers together.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” Stiles says. “But I’m not sorry for trying to save your life. You think I wanna live without you?”

Peter sighs irritably, but his thumb is softly rubbing the back of Stiles’ hand. “That’s as good as I’m going to get, isn’t it?” 

“Probably,” Stiles says. “Though if it makes you feel better, I promise that next time I’ll let you do the dramatic rescue.”

“It’s a start,” Peter says. He stands, free hand cupping Stiles’ jaw, followed by the soft tingle that accompanies the pain drain. Stiles sighs, relaxing completely in a way the aches all over hadn’t let him. 

“Thanks,” Stiles says. 

Peter just shakes his head but he leans in, pressing a soft but very deliberate kiss to Stiles’ lips. Stiles’ heart skips a beat because as many times as they’ve kissed, Stiles has mostly been the instigator. But this, this is Peter kissing him with no outside pressure, no New Year’s Eve guise, no handsy werewolves to keep away, just because he wants to.

Stiles is breathless when Peter pulls back, a satisfied little smirk on his face. The little beeps of the heart rate monitor are coming significantly faster and he hopes a nurse isn’t going to run in and yell at them any second.

“You might want to tone down the smile a bit,” Peter says, though he’s looking smug. “Your dad is almost here.”

“Son of a bitch.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on [ tumblr ](http://www.hotpinklizard.tumblr.com).


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